Anemone
by yesteryouth
Summary: In his youth, America always hated bathing... Especially with England. UK/US, adult situations


ANEMONE

He was young. Young, supple, and God, he was beautiful. England hugged him – no, squeezed him – until he was squirming desperately in the death grip, making tiny squeaking sounds and practically begging for release. The noises just made him want to hang on tighter, almost afraid to let go of him.

What was he afraid of? Maybe America would disappear if England let go; just vanish into thin air like a puff of smoke.

He could distinctly see his discomfort; the way England's calloused hands traced along the curve of his back and rested awkwardly on his hips made America want to die. But, Alfred focused on the clean bathroom floor as he shyly unbuttoned his stained, white shirt. England insisted on his hands caressing the soft skin on his stomach as soon as it was exposed.

"Hurry up," England shooed America's hands away and started fidgeting with the last of the buttons on his shirt. "The bath water is getting cold." The touching made him hesitant to strip in front of his brother. Shyly, the American shook his head, hugging his shirt closed to cover his body. Disobeying England wasn't really something that America did, and it certainly wasn't something that England was used to. "Strip," England stood up straight and loomed above him. America, nervous, did his best to swallow the lump of something or other in his throat. "Or I will raise your taxes, and you will not receive a single import from me without being bombarded with-"

Arthur didn't have to finish. The little colony just let out a defeated sigh as he watched his mud-stained shirt fall lifelessly to the floor. England picked it up with a look of disgust fixed on his face. How could his little America even think about bringing such filth into his house? His CLEAN house. Alfred looked up at him with hopeful blue eyes. "Would you fetch me a bath toy?" How suspcious. Alfred probably just wanted him out of the room so he could take off his pants and slip into the tub without England eyeing his body. But, England was no fool. He would not be outsmarted by a youth – especially by America.

"No," Was Arthur's blunt response. "You're far to old to be playing with those silly things, Alfred." America didn't fail to hear the melancholy in his tone. With a sad, guilty smile, Alfred walked up to England and hugged his waist. He was short, even for the tender age of 11; much smaller than the other boys his age. England brushed America off him, but no sooner was he kneeling down to his level. "Come now, Alfred," America screwed his eyes shut when Arthur brushed the hair out of his face. "What do you have to be afraid of?"

Could England really not sense how awkward America felt? Those sick eyes on his body made him self conscious, and America did all he could to avoid making eye contact with England. Although, that proved to be difficult when Arthur lifted America's tiny chin with his rough hands. America always underestimated England's stregth; always pushed the boundries just to see how much he could get away with. England hated his free spirit, but a part of him couldn't bare to see it go.

"Are you afraid of me?" When America nodded, Arthur's soft smile turned into a smirk. The look England gave him was enough to make him shudder. America pulled away from England quickly. "Good... You should be."

America wanted to escape from the bathroom. No, the entire house. Maybe the whole country! It wasn't often that England came to visit him, but when he did, he was treated like a child. 'I'm not a baby,' He had informed England earlier. 'I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself.' England didn't like that response, and wasn't afraid to show it. America's snarky attitude made him furious, and he showed it by showering the cowering boy with insults and threats of tax increase. America, of course, had apologized profusely afterwards. It satisfied England, to see him so submissive and fearful. Pathetic.

England's mind was twisted. America watched with wide eyes as England unfastened his trousers. "Stop!" America cried, grasping the waist of his pants for dear life. He hoisted them up as high as they would go. England chuckled. The low, adult laugh made the hairs on the back of America's neck stand on end. "I... can do this myself." He walked over to the tub, and allowed his dress pants and underwear to fall to his ankles.

"Wait." He didn't want to turn around, but he did. England lick his chapped licks, and America's stomach clenched. "Come here, America. Let's have a look at you, then." His footsteps were cautious, but America inched his way over to England, eyes fixed on the tiled floor. England tapped America's shoulder. "Shoulder's back." He instructed. America complied, and stood up straight at his command. Standing up this straight made his spine ache. "Very good, America. Remember, shoulders, hips, ankles." America mumbled a tiny, 'yes, sir. ' that made England furrow his thick eyebrows. He watched as America's shoulders tensed. "What a fine young man you're shaping up to be." England's finger rested on America's flat stomach, and he dragged it slowly across his chest and neck, all the way up to his chin.

"Thank you," America found it was impossible to look away from England when he was holding his face so tenderly. "Soon, I hope to be just as strong as you, England." He regretted his words when he watched England's calm expression shift. He looked angry, yet again. "B-but," America began to fidget, suddenly shy about being nude in front of England when being held so close. Especially when he seemed so frustrated with him. "If I may, England... I know you will always be stronger."

That satisfied England, and America breathed a relieved sigh as his face was released. He could still feel where Arthur's fingers had been, and wasn't surprised when he looked in the mirror and saw there were bright red marks on his face. "That's right," America scampered away from England, and over to the bath tub, which he promptly climbed into. "You will never surpass me, America," Alfred gulped as he watched England roll up his crisp white sleeves.

The washcloth that was sitting at the edge of the bathtub was soon in England's hands. He began to scrub it with a bar of soap, and to America, it looked like he was trying to smother it. "I can wash myself, you know." Despite his cautious protest, England picked up America's arm, and started running the rag up and down the skin softly. It was soothing, and America slid down further into the hot water. "Hey," England let go of his arm, and picked up the other one. "Did you hear me, Arthur? I said-"

"I heard you," England began to unbutton his clean, dry shirt. America, staring wide eyed as his brother stripped, hugged his bare legs to his chest. That look of uncertainty in his eyes – an uncertainty England was sure reflected the fear in America's heart – made England's chest thingle. He loved the distinct look of fear America's eyes. His America.

"You're mad," America's voice shook when he spoke. His voice trembled, "You're not actually going to get in the water," He gulped as he watched England slide his pants and... Oh.

Oh.

He pressed up against the wall of the spacious tub the moment England lifted his foot to step into the hot water. When he carefully climbed into the tub, England winced. The steaming water was almost unbearable. How had America been able to tolerate this scolding water? It was enough to leave horrible burns on his body!

At that moment, England decided to run his hands across America's thighs and hips to relieve him from the hot water. But as he looked down at the look on America's face, he was surprised to see warm tears streaming down his face. England frowned. All the dirt from his face was running down with his tears; streaking brown over his pink cheeks. Maybe he should lick them clean, England thought to himself, but soon changed his mind.

"Filthy," England moved his hands from America's waist and placed them on America's shoulders. England shoved the colony's entire body under the scorching hot water. His screams of pain were muffled by water flowing into his open mouth, but England could still see the look of terror on his screwed-up face. He choked. America clutched England's wrists tightly, and when the bitten-down fingernails sunk into his arm painfully, England pulled him back up.

As soon as he was lifted from the water, America's sobs became apparent, and he flung his arms around England. "There, there," Sighed Arthur, placing tender kisses across America's flushed cheeks and neck. His clean cheeks and neck, Arthur noted. It seemed to calm him down, because his stiff, almost painful grasp became more relaxed, and his loud, pained cries turned into quiet sniffles. His soft hands continued to shake, but he shifted them, and ran them lovingly up and down England's back.

A pleasured sigh slipped from England's moist lips. He carefully lifted Alfred's frail body from the floor of the tub, on to his lap. America began to cry again, and with frustration, England began to stroke his back. His skin was hot to the touch, even when exposed in the cool air of the room.

"There, there," England echoed. "You're clean now, America... There's no need to cry." His lanky arms wrapped around America, and he pulled the trembling frame up against chest. His skin felt so smooth and flawless against his own scared and flawed body. He regretted that soon America's body would be laced with ugly blemishes from battle and adulthood. But, for now, he would enjoy the soft feeling Alfred's plush body rubbing against his own. Arthur didn't bother trying to muffle the tiny moan he could feel vibrating in his throat. Knowing America's unattentive persona, he probably wouldn't notice anyway.

"You know," America tried to pull away from England, only to feel his strong arms pull America up against his tightly. "Soon, I'm gonna be too old for you to bathe with me."

England's eyes narrowed bitterly. "America," He pushed America off his lap, and held him against the wall of the bathtub. "Your level of comfort doesn't matter to me. Not one bit. You won't tell anyone that I bathe with you," Arthur brushed his thumb against America's swollen lips. The soft, tender look on England's face made America's heart flutter. But how could he face England when he looked so... wrong? He couldn't bring himself to look up on him. Alfred screwed his eyes shut. He didn't flinch when the digit was crammed into his mouth. "Right, America?"

England's mouth twitched when he felt Alfred's tiny pink tongue swirl around his thumb. It was erotic; England wasn't even sure if America knew what he was doing to him. "Yes, England," he spoke around England's finger. England could feel his tongue grazing against his finger when the words spilled out of his mouth. "I won't tell."

"That's my boy." England tugged his finger out of America's mouth, and dipped it into the hot water. The saliva soaked off as if it were never even there. His eyes lifted from the surface of the water to America's face. His eyes were glazed over with something that he had never seen before. "What the deuce are you looking at, boy?"

Maybe it was awe, England pondered silently. He knew America respected him, but was it enough to gaze up at him with the same longing he did right now? And just moments after he had been abusing him, at that.

He felt America's tiny hand reach out, and rest on England's chest. Arthur stared, shocked, at America's palm as it ressed flat down against him. "Iggy," He whispered, sloshing forward in the tub to press up against him. His weak arms wrapped around Arthur's body in a soft hug. "I love you, Iggy."

His America was so timid and beautiful... His America was so delicate. He would have kissed him then, if he had not taught him that it was wrong for two men to love eachother. He would have pinned him down and ravished him. Fucked him. But no, he wouldn't. England would just taunt and tease him with sexual touches that he wouldn't understand until he was much older.

He would torment him.

Because, he knew that his America would leave him, otherwise.


End file.
